


Here Then At Long Last Is My Darkness

by ewatsonia



Category: Televoid! (Web Series)
Genre: Description of Injuries, Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 21:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19709527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewatsonia/pseuds/ewatsonia
Summary: Had Ian found a way out of the Void, or something worse?





	Here Then At Long Last Is My Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.

The presence of the audience vanished but for once Ian didn’t care. Not when he was looking at what he was. A door. A way out. Why would he care about the viewers that abandoned him for months at a time when there was a chance he might not need them anymore? 

Upon walking closer, he was almost surprised when the door didn’t just vanish on him. It flickered like a television with a bad signal, but the way everything in the Void was that didn’t faze him. It was there and it was _real_. 

His arm twitched, beginning the movement of reaching for the door handle. Something in him hesitated. His chest ached with phantom pain, would there be consequences if he opened the door? Even the smallest acts of rebellion against his situation had been reaped punishment, who knows what would be inflicted if he tried to escape...

That, or what if him opening that door was exactly what they wanted him to do? Frank had led him here. A copy of himself in the TV had bid him to follow. This could be another part to the twisted game they were playing with him. 

Opening that door might lead to any number of things, horrific or freeing. Ian would never know if he didn’t do it though. What would they do, kill him?

Ian laughed. His arm continued moving forward until he was able to grasp the handle. 

Nothing happened. No static. Taking a deep breath, Ian turned it.

_Tck. Tck._

Resistance met him, the door was locked. 

Ian let out something between a sigh and a growl. Undeterred, he gritted his teeth together and tried to force it to keep going. He put his other hand on the handle too and pushed harder. His face went red with effort as he pooled everything he had into getting it to move.

The damn thing didn't budge, or give any sign of breaking under the strain and Ian was forced to let go. 

Ian shook out his aching hands, one with deep intents of white surrounded by red where he’d been forcing it into the metal. He panted. Strength was not something he had much to spare with the condition he was kept under. 

Cracking his knuckles, Ian went back to work, this time tugging towards him. It rattled, mocking him. It was supposed to open outwards, but he might as well have been pulling on a door labeled push for all it was concerned.

Kicking it down wouldn’t work from this side either, even if the idea of him and his stick limbs managing that weren’t laughable. 

Ian ran his hands through his hair, yanking a few strands out in the process. He couldn’t give up and just go back to the monotony of the past however long, just waiting for the TV to turn on again. He _couldn’t_ do that again.

Tears in the corners of his eyes threatened to spill over. _No._

Fists collided with the door over and over, begging someone on the other side to open the door, to see what the hell was making that noise. Again and again, Ian barraged the wood with his fists, the loud thuds intermixing with his shouts. 

“Come on!” 

_Thump._

“Fucking _open the door!_ ” 

Grabbing the handle again, Ian rattled it violently. There had to be _something_ on the other side. _Frank_ couldn’t be that far away. Someone had to be hearing this!

There was no sign of that and Ian rested his forehead against the door, breathing heavy. His pulse pounded against his chest and in his still clenched fist. 

“ _Please!”_ he called out,desperate, tears starting a steady stream down his cheeks. “Just…”

_THUMP._

_“LET.”_

_THUMP. THUMP._

_“ME.”_

_THUMPTHUMPTHUMP_ **C R A C K**

_“OU-OW. Ow._ ** _Fuck!_ ** _”_

Ian yanked his hand back and cradled it against his chest. Once the shock at the pain wore off, he held it out to inspect. His knuckles and fingers were red with promised bruising. He tried to bend his fingers, the pain was sharp and he winced. 

And of course, even after all of that, the door still stood quiet and unopened. Nobody was coming. If anyone was there, they didn’t care. There was no getting through. No escaping. 

On the arm with his uninjured hand, Ian shook out the fabric of his sleeve and used it to scrub away the tears. He wasn’t even getting an emotional release from them, it just made him feel more pathetic. Here was Ian Whofuckingknowswhathislastnameis, crying because he’d hurt himself trying to get a door to open.

Someone was always watching him, the cameras were always on even when he couldn’t see them. That’s why he sucked it up, and resisted the urge to sink down to the floor. That door wasn’t opening and well…

When he turned from it, his eyes met emptiness in every direction. 

The door was far, _far_ away from the TV and he didn’t know where to start on the path to getting back. Frank’s route hadn’t exactly been straightforward, twists and turns making Ian wonder if he’d just been wandering aimlessly. There hadn’t been a plan beyond obeying the advice of _“Follow him.”_ Ian couldn’t even decide where he’d approached the from because everything looked the same. 

“Guess I’ll just pick a direction and start going.” he muttered to himself. If he kept going he’d probably come across _something_. There was the door. There was his TV, the Stoop sign and the exercise bike. Even in a place so vast and empty as the Void, there _were_ things to find.

Shoving his throbbing hand in his pocket, Ian headed forwards. Straight ahead felt like the best option. 

As he walked, he occasionally glanced over his shoulder at the door for some reassurance he was actually moving until eventually it disappeared into the distance. There was nothing now. Just Ian and the giant, dark expanse spread before him. His heart picked up, as it crossed his mind that this was his last chance to just turn around and go back to the door. Maybe if he did, waited a bit, someone would-

No. Ian pushed the thought away. He needed to get back to the TV. He didn’t know if that door would ever actually open, he had precedent that the TV would turn on eventually. That emails would print off for him. Call him a coward, but if he was gonna be stuck waiting forever, he’d rather it be somewhere familiar.

For a while he watched his feet. There was a vague pattern to the dark floor that changed as he walked forward, that let him make sure he was staying in the same direction. Looking anywhere else had him feeling like he was just floating in the dark, unsure whether or not he was actually moving. Too disorienting.

This _sucked_ , he decided, after he no longer needed to think about walking anymore. It was stupid of him, he’d never dared wander too far from the part of the Void he knew and here he was now! Who knows how large of a distance away because he’d blindly followed freaking _Frank!_

Deep breath. Getting angry wouldn’t solve anything, even if it was something to do. 

“It’s too quiet.” he decided out loud. “Might as well talk to myself, like hell there’s anyone around to hear me.”

He glanced around and sure enough, there was still nothing and no one to see. He’d been walking for sometime now, he was pretty sure. Not that it meant much, Ian didn’t have much of a sense for it. Had it been Minutes? Hours? Who knew. Probably not days yet though. Probably.

“ _You_ still keeping an eye on me?” he asked the ‘sky’ that was indistinguishable from any other part of the Void. “Is this fun, watching me walk in a straight line? Am I still being a good little host for you?” 

No response. Ian knew there was someone, some _thing_ pulling strings though. Someone starting the shows, changing the emails, scolding him with static. He did wonder if they _were_ actually watching him. Surely he’d crossed enough lines to be punished by now. Hm. They didn’t like it when he swore, right?

“Show of the _fucking_ year here, am I right?” 

Nothing. 

Quiet resumed. Ian didn’t like how his voice just...faded off into the Void. He supposed it did that while he was hosting Televoid too, but it wasn’t something he noticed, and there was a presence assuring him he was addressing _someone_. Now there wasn’t even an echo calling back to him.

He kept walking.

Ian’s legs were tired. _Ian_ was tired. He had no idea how long he’d been on autopilot, walking and thinking in silence. Definitely longer than when he’d walked to the door, that was for sure, and there was still nothing to show for it. 

For some concept of how time had passed, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied it. It hadn’t stopped hurting, but the painful ache was so consistent that it had faded into Ian’s subconscious. He didn’t know what state it was actually Ian until he saw the deep purple bruising and swelling for himself. 

Unpleasant acidity rose up in the back of his throat and Ian forced it down. Gross. 

He put his hand away. He didn’t know much about injuries but he was pretty sure that color meant it’d been at least a day, possibly longer. No wonder he was tired. He was surprised by his legs hadn’t given out.

Then again, he also wasn’t hungry or thirsty. There was something weird about him, that was nothing new. 

Ian should stop and rest though. He hadn’t slept in so long, he was pretty sure as soon as he closed his eyes he’d be out like a light. Not entirely pleased but desperate for the rest, Ian brought himself down to the floor and curled up.

He wasn’t wrong.

When he stirred back awake, even though the feeling of being well rested told him otherwise, Ian felt as though he’d just closed his eyes. He hadn’t dreamed, his sleep hadn’t been disturbed. It was better than any night’s sleep he’d had in a long time. Go figure.

He picked himself up, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before he set out again.

...Wait. 

Which way had he been heading? Which way had he _come from?_

“No...no no no…” he whispered, looking all around him, as if there was any clue to actually tell. Everything looked the same. The same darkness. The same nothingness. There was no way he could know if he was still facing the right away, or facing back towards the door or somewhere else. He’d just spun around randomly. He could’ve shifted in his sleep. 

**_Which way was forward?_ **

One sharp breath, then another, and another and another then Ian couldn’t stop them from coming. Couldn’t stop panicked tears from leaking out. 

“I...I don’t know where to-where to _go_.” he spluttered to himself. Stupid, stupid idiot! He should’ve marked the direction he was heading somehow! Taken off his shoe or his hoodie and placed it there. He was so stupid! 

Ian clutched his head, digging his fingernails into his scalp, hyperventilating. What would he do now? Roam the Void, directionless, hoping he’d stumble across something familiar? Walking in one direction wasn’t the best plan but it was _a_ plan. He had nothing of the sort now. He could try keep it up but that could just land him right back at the door or further into the abyss. 

“Ha...ha…” 

What was the point in having a plan anymore? No matter what he did, the chances of him winding up back at the TV were slim. The Void was huge. Infinite for all he knew. He could walk in a straight line infinitely away from the TV. He could wander infinitely in a circle, treading the same ground over and over and over and over and never knowing it. 

Or maybe he’d aimlessly wander right to it. Who knew what would happen, but he couldn’t just stay put. That felt too much like giving up and damn, he wasn’t going to do that.

So wander he did. 

One foot in front of another. 

Changing directions at any whim. 

Ian didn’t stop again. Eventually he tuned everything out, any tiredness in his limbs, the pain in his broken knuckles, it was all just background noise. Even his thoughts blurred. If he couldn’t see it, he’d probably forget he even had a body that he was lugging around the Void. Forget that he wasn’t just a ghost floating around in the dark.

How many miles had he walked?

How long since he’d left the door? 

The TV?

Was there anything else out here?

Anyone else?

So many questions without answers. Maybe he’d find out someday. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just be doing this forever or until he died. He knew he could do that. He’d done it once before but someone had brought him back. Would they do it again?

Ian put his face in his cupped hands and sighed. He could do that now, he realized. His knuckles had healed and he hadn’t noticed in his numbness. Probably misaligned and messed up, because they hadn’t been wrapped in bandages to keep them straight, but they didn’t hurt anymore. The bruising might as well have never been there.

~~...had it?~~

That was something new. He supposed he could appreciate that. Time passing, things changing. Everything was always the same, no variety, no matter which way he walked. 

This was hell and his life hosting Televoid was heaven by comparison. 

Something occurred to him. 

_Was that the point?_

His head cleared. Punishments he’d suffered before now crept back into his memory. Race Your Baby after hoping for another show in the previous episode. Getting _Frank_ when he wanted company for a party. 

When he wanted something, they took it and twisted it before throwing it back in his face to mock him for wishing. To dare him to ask for something else. 

You want to go somewhere else? Sure. This was something else, wasn’t it? It was anything _but_ where you've been. That was what you wanted right? No escaping from the Void, but an escape from the closest thing you had to a home was just fine.

Ian fell to his hands and knees, and once again stared up at the endless dark above him.

“ _I get it_ , okay?” he shouted, arms already trembling from holding him up. “I’m sorry! I won’t try to leave again!”

“I’ll do what you want, no more questions. I’ll do _anything._ ” Ian was crying again, punctuating his sentences with sobs. Once upon a time, the thought of pleading with his keepers like this would’ve made him sick, and something left of that version of himself whispered that it was pathetic. Ian didn’t care anymore.

“I’ll host as many episodes of Televoid as you want, I won’t care if it takes a while for a new show to come on!” he assured, genuine in all his words. He just wanted this punishment to end. It’d gone on so long. A gut feeling said longer than any gap between episodes. “Just bring me back to the TV. _PLEASE!”_

Nobody answered him. No force carried him back to where he belonged. Cold, silent, darkness surrounding him on all sides. 

There in the dark he stayed.


End file.
